


Let There Be Night

by habenaria_radiata



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Minor Character Death, Possession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-10-16 13:24:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10572210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata/pseuds/habenaria_radiata
Summary: There were whispers of a beast that haunted the bowels of the Northern Fortress. Jakob thought them absurd.It was enough that he found his entire life upended to serve a little girl not much younger than himself. It was enough that he had callouses where there was once perfectly smooth, unblemished skin. It was enough that other people actually believed these ridiculous rumors without Corrin admitting that she believed them too.It was enough that he was miserable without adding a haunted castle to the mix. Ghosts.Honestly.Spoilers for Revelation.





	1. Viktoria

* * *

 

 

  
  
    Viktoria had only ever seen gladiolus once in her life, but she never forgot the vision they made. They stood tall and resplendent against a baby blue sky, brilliantly violet and swaying gently in the breeze. For years, she tried to grow them herself -- to capture the magic of that day inside of something that lived and breathed. To preserve the memory that once upon a time, her family had been happy.  
  
    Her sister had loved them as much as Viktoria did. She could still remember the smell of her perfume as Emilie had leaned over her in the carriage for a better view, her face shining like the sun. Even their mother was in an uncharacteristically good mood as they all admired the flowers bursting from the earth. It was such a brief, fleeting time in her life, but Viktoria clung to it like a buoy. She was sure that if she could bring a piece of that day to life, it would be enough.  
  
    But the skies of Nohr were as unforgiving as its soil; as unforgiving as her own body. Each month that passed her by was another cruel reminder that she had rejected every seed Arik planted in her, just as Nohr rejected her beautiful gladiolus.  
  
    The seeds never took.  
  
    There simply wasn't enough sun for them to grow, neither in her, nor in the skies. If it were one or the other, perhaps it would have hurt less, but the dual failure was more than Viktoria could bear. She had started to believe that her father was right. She was simply too inadequate to be a mother. The mocking letter he had sent her stayed shut away in a drawer, but she could nevertheless remember every single word as if it had been nailed into her flesh.  
  
    All her life, she'd never been enough. Her father had chided her for her still nature, like the water in a well. Quietly, Viktoria held everything that fell into her and never let it go. She never forgot a slight, even if she chose to forgive it. Viktoria had always hated the comparison, but she could never argue it. She kept a comfortable distance between herself and the world around her. At times, she did feel like she dwelled at the bottom of a well, watching the world pass her by through a tunnel of stone.  
  
    She never liked it, but Viktoria could have lived with it if her mother hadn't also complained that she was too cold. That one stung more, even as Viktoria recognized that it was unfair. It felt like a chilly draft being criticized by a blizzard. But perhaps they were right. Perhaps she was too cold and too deeply entrenched. Instead of nurturing her tender seeds, each of them drowned in the still water inside her.  
  
    She resigned herself to her fate. She resigned to be bitterly happy when her beloved sister had a third child even as Viktoria struggled. She resigned to an empty garden and an empty belly and an empty home of nothing but herself and her husband.  
  
    And then, Viktoria was pregnant.  
  
    She was stunned the entire length of it. Even as her stomach grew rounder and heavier, she scarcely believed that the little seedling she tended inside her would come to blossom. It seemed too much the dream. Too much to hope.  
  
    But in spite of her fear, in spite of her disbelief that she could carry something so fragile inside her, her son was born. She bore him in pain and birthed him in tears, and as her tiny son cried and cried, Viktoria held him with love that threatened to burst from her at the seams.  
  
    They named him Jakob, and he was exquisitely beautiful. His hair was soft and dark, and his eyes were as blue in infancy as lobelia.  
  
    She loved him fiercely, and so did Arik. He was so proud of them both. The day of Jakob's birth, Arik bundled him up into a blanket and showed him off to every single staff member in the manor. When Arik finally came back with him, he bent down to kiss her, and Viktoria clutched her tiny son to her chest.  
  
    Jakob was as lovely as a flower, but he grew like a weed. His hair grew lighter and lighter, but his eyes darkened to a rich, gorgeous purple that reminded her so much of her gladiolus. Viktoria loved to look at him. Every day, she sat before the hearth to feed him, indulging in the warmth of the fire and stroking his baby smooth skin.  
  
    He was six months old when they received another letter from her father. Viktoria held it in her hand, still sealed away in its envelope. Her other arm cradled Jakob as he ate, one of his tiny hands pressed to her chest. She watched his nose bounce and his eyes squeeze shut. Everything he did charmed her, and she put her lips to his forehead.  
  
    She tossed the envelope into the fire and sat back to watch it burn.  
  
    They never heard from him again.  
  
    Viktoria was glad for it. Jakob and Arik were everything to her. She loved to watch when Arik would hoist Jakob up over his shoulders and run about her gardens with him, shrieking and laughing as he clutched at his father's wild hair. She loved to let him garden with her, planting seeds in the ground after he tilled the dry soil with his tiny hands.  
  
    Jakob had an easy curiosity about the world that Viktoria felt compelled to nurture. He held a fire inside him that reminded her so much of Arik. The distance she maintained from the world was entirely foreign to her son; even as a child, Jakob seemed seamlessly a part of it, as if he understood it from birth and was yet eager to know more.  
  
    For years, Viktoria was afforded the sort of bliss she had never known. She was blindingly happy. She had a perfect son, a perfect husband, a near perfect garden. Emilie was the only family who came to visit her, and she would bring Jakob's darling cousins with her.  
  
    Spring seized their manor a few months after Jakob's birthday. It was cool and unusually lovely, and Viktoria was happy to spend some time planting new flowers for the season. Arik came out to join her, and she watched with a smile as he reached down to pluck Jakob off the ground. His laugh was so wonderful. Viktoria went back to her flowers, but she never stopped listening. Arik squeezed at Jakob's bony little knees as their son clutched his hair, and he ran about the gardens like Jakob so loved.  
  
    She had never expected for him to fall.  
  
    Jakob hit the ground with a cry of pain, and Viktoria whipped around so fast her neck ached. Arik was lying on his side, his face flushed red and dripping with sweat. Their son's legs were still tangled around his neck,  and his calf was bruised an ugly purple.  
  
    Jakob, to her infinite relief, recovered quickly. But Arik did not.  
  
    Over the next week, a veritable parade of healers came and went through the manor. Viktoria had enough magic to heal Jakob's leg herself, but she didn't have the training to identify what was wrong with her husband, much less fix it.  
  
    Evidently, neither did anyone else. On the seventh day, Viktoria stood outside her own bedroom with her heart sinking ever lower as the healer worked. She felt Jakob push his face into her belly, and she reached down to hold him tightly. "...Is papa going to be okay?" he had asked her.  
  
    She wanted to reassure him. She wanted to promise that Arik would be fine, and that their lives would go back to normal soon. But in the end, Viktoria never answered him at all, even to lie.  
  
    When they finally told her what was wrong with him, Viktoria didn't cry. For once, the well inside her proved an asset. Every tear she felt tempted to shed was dragged down into the depths, sliding down the stones one by one. She thanked the man and bid him goodbye.  
  
    For weeks, she researched. Jakob's nanny took up the bulk of caring for him while Viktoria tried desperately hard to find a way to save her husband. There was a plant that grew in Hoshido -- a pretty white flower that could be ground into a medicinal paste. It wouldn't heal him, but it would buy Arik time while a potential cure could be researched.  
  
    It was expensive. So expensive. The first time she paid for a blossom, Viktoria nearly vomited. But Arik's life was worth it, and this was the only thing that could possibly preserve him.  
  
    Every month, Viktoria collected the flower from her footman, and she brought it back to the study to slice the delicate petals and grind them beneath her pestle. And every month, she took the white paste, thick as a chrism, and slowly fed it to her dying husband.  
  
    But no cure ever came.  
  
    The longer time stretched, the more desperate Viktoria became. One by one, the manor emptied itself of its staff. Viktoria took up every one of their burdens herself while she cared for Arik, who could not get out of bed.  
  
    Eventually, only Jakob's nanny was left, but her time was short, and Viktoria knew it. It made her sick. She could hardly keep the pantry full enough for the three of them. Soon enough, she had no choice but to stop eating almost entirely herself.  
  
    A burning resentment blinded her. The more flowers she crushed beneath her pestle, the more violently she ground them into the mortar.  
  
    She let the nanny go.  
  
    Trying to watch Jakob exhausted her. Her eyes were bleary as she mixed up another month's worth of Arik's medicine while Jakob played in the empty study with her. The shelves had long been hollowed out, their entire library of books pawned away for more medicine.  
  
    Stiffly, Viktoria looked over at him and frowned softly. "Jakob, please don't play in here." She knew he was so bitterly lonely. His nanny was the only person who kept him company, and now he was trapped with a bedridden father and a mother who barely had time to feed him.  
  
    She heard him sigh and went back to her task. Jakob did not leave, though. A few minutes passed, and she looked up once more to see Jakob bouncing his ball with a dull look on his face. Her brows furrowed sharply. "Jakob-"  
  
    "I don't know where else to go!" He looked so upset. Viktoria regretted trying to make him leave, and she opened her mouth to apologize when he threw the ball in a tantrum. It bounced off the wall and straight into her mortar, knocking it onto the ground.  
  
    Her insides seized up.  
  
    It was like he'd poured melted gold straight onto the floor. Viktoria felt numb as she dropped to her knees, her fingertips scrabbling to collect the medicine from the carpet. But it was ruined.  
  
    She couldn't remember a word of what she said, but she screamed at him until her throat was raw. The backs of her eyes were so hot they stabbed, and she screamed at her son as he sobbed.  
  
    He didn't speak to her for two days, and she felt as if her heart had been as crushed as the flower petals. Viktoria slipped into his room that night and brushed her fingers across his face. His cheeks were chapped and raw. Just looking at him made her ache. She bent forward to kiss his sleeping face and whispered to him that she was sorry. For everything.  
  
    The next day, she sold her wedding dress. Viktoria had long since retreated into her well. She watched through the water impassively as the woman admired it, her fingertips dragging along the fabric of the dress she'd worn when Arik carried her into their marital bedroom and kissed her.  
  
    She managed to smile as she took the gold for it.  
  
    Still, Viktoria did not cry. If she had to sell everything she had to buy her husband one day at a time, then she would. But the more she lost, the more her horror grew until the day she finally realized that no cure would ever come. Her husband was never, ever going to get better.  
  
    The day she received a letter from a man named Gunter, Viktoria understood that her life was ruined, and that it had been ruined since that insultingly beautiful spring day. She had gambled Jakob's future for Arik's life, and she had lost.  
  
    Viktoria did cry then. In the dark of her emptied kitchen, Viktoria bent over the wooden table and wept. Her well had finally overflowed. Tears burst from her, sluicing over the edge of her stones and pouring onto the parchment. She cried for hours, mourning for her son and for her husband and for herself. For the manor that would no longer be hers, for the heirship she had denied to Jakob. For everything.  
  
    She cried until she felt as if her very nose would collapse. She fell asleep on the table, her arms folded over the letter she had hoped never to receive.  
  
    Jakob didn't understand. She wanted to tell him, to explain everything and apologize to him for what she'd done. But he was so painfully young. How could he understand? How could she make him see that making sure he had food and a roof over his head was so much more important than what Viktoria wanted?  
  
    So she didn't. She packed a trunk of everything he had left: his clothes, his books, his toys. His favorite pillow and his blanket. And finally, Viktoria took him by the hand, guiding her baby son out of their manor for the last time either of them would ever see it.  
  
    The pain was so enormous that it crossed straight into numbness. Viktoria barely felt her own body. All she felt was Jakob's fingers clutched in her palm, and she stroked the back of his hand as she guided him through the imposing, wrought iron gates of the Northern Fortress.  
  
    The man who could only be Gunter stood waiting at the door. Viktoria fell still, her hand tightening around Jakob's own. "Lady Viktoria." Gunter bowed low, his forearm pressed to his chest. She hesitated before she offered him a stiff curtsy in return and smiled. "And you must be Jakob."  
  
    Jakob shrank against her. Viktoria let go of his hand to hold his shoulder, and she stroked his hair back. "Yes, this is Jakob." Gunter guided them inside the castle. Just looking at it made her insides recoil. There were bars on every window, and the inside was cold and unwelcoming. Just like her, she imagined bitterly. The voice in her head sounded like her mother.  
  
    Viktoria tried to focus on Gunter instead, and the man soon turned to face them once again. "Thank you for agreeing to this," she said, though the words tasted insincere in her mouth. She didn't feel the sort of gratefulness that her tone suggested. She wanted to take Jakob and run.  
  
    She was being absurd.  
  
    Gunter offered her a short smile and inclined his head. "Of course. I suspect the lady-"  
  
    The lady in question pushed a wooden door open and spilled into the foyer. Viktoria was startled, and she gripped Jakob to her as if the girl might attack him. But she did not. She beamed at her with a wide smile, her cheeks flushed and her hair curled around her pointed ears. "Hi!" she said. "My name is Corrin!"  
  
    Viktoria's heart leaped into her throat. Her eyes darted over to Gunter, then back down to the girl, and she offered her a hesitant smile. "Of course. It's so lovely to meet you, Princess Corrin." She swept her skirt into her hand and dipped into a low curtsy. "This is my son, Jakob. He'll be keeping you company."  
  
    Corrin looked so delighted that Viktoria was taken aback. It was near impossible to imagine. This girl looked so sweet and innocent. To think...  
  
    Gunter stepped closer to her and cupped the back of her head, but she ignored him. "It's nice to meet you, Jakob! Do you want to play with me?"  
  
    Jakob clearly had no idea how to react. He looked up at Viktoria in helpless disbelief, and it agonized her to her very core. Fortunately, Gunter chided Corrin and took her attention away from the other two.  
  
    Viktoria bent down and cupped her son's face.  
  
    "Please don't leave me here," he begged. The fear in his eyes was like a stake in her heart. She pushed her tears down, down, down and kissed his forehead.  
  
    "It's just for a little while," she whispered back. "They'll take care of you here, darling. I promise you."  
  
    She stood again as Gunter finished lecturing the chastised little princess, and Viktoria regarded him with a tight smile. "Well...can I show you around?" Corrin begged. Gunter sighed, but he acquiesced.  
  
    "In a moment, Corrin. Go wait for your new friend in the hallway."  
  
    "Okay!" Corrin waved eagerly and darted into the hallway, leaving Jakob still clutching at Viktoria's thigh.  
  
    She felt her lip tremble, and she lifted her head. Gunter stepped closer to her so she could speak to him without Jakob hearing. "...Is he safe here?" she breathed.  
  
    Gunter's head dipped low. "I promise to keep him safe, Lady Viktoria. You have my word."  
  
    She nodded mutely and turned back to Jakob. Fear was no longer the only thing dominating his face. He was _angry_. Betrayed. She betrayed him. Viktoria tightened her mouth all the harder and squeezed at his shoulders. "I love you, Jakob."  
  
    He said nothing. She hadn't expected him to, but his silence still cut like a knife.  
  
    She bent down and kissed his hair. "I know you'll make me proud. You already do."  
  
    And with that...she left him.  
  
    Jakob stood in the massive foyer that seemed to swallow him whole, and Viktoria walked away from him. Away from the baby boy she struggled to conceive. Away from the child she birthed and raised and nurtured like a flower in her garden. Away from the person she loved above all others.  
  
    She swallowed every bitter tear, straightened her back, and closed the door behind her. She would endure.  
  
    Viktoria made her way back to the manor that was no longer hers. If she had to spend every day of her life buying back Jakob's future, that's what she would do.  
  
    She would endure.  
  
    She just hoped that Jakob would too.


	2. Jakob

* * *

 

 

    Jakob passed through his time in a daze. The Northern Fortress was beyond his ken in every possible way. It was cold. The interior offended his sensibilities. There were bars on the windows, for gods' sakes. Why anyone willingly occupied this hellmouth escaped him completely, and he loathed it to his tiny little core.  
  
    The staff took pity on him his first week. No one made him do anything more taxing than following Corrin around, but even that strained his capacity for patience. She took him on a meandering tour of the fortress, but it was so winding and sprawling that the tour encompassed more than one day, and very little of it committed itself to memory.  
  
    It was all too much for him.  
  
    His sleep was abysmal. Each night, he lay on his stiff bed and stared at the ceiling and simmered in resentment. Jakob wanted to go home. He wanted to hide in his mother's arms and ask her why she left him here. He wanted to apologize. He didn't know what he'd actually done wrong -- what he'd done to make her leave him in this awful place. But some nights, he was willing to do and say anything to go back home to her. On others, he never wanted to see her face again.  
  
    Perhaps it would have been easier to bear if he understood why he was even there at all. It irritated him that he was expected to be Corrin's butler. She already had a nanny, and she was only a little younger than he was. Jakob _certainly_ never had a butler of his own. All he'd had was a nanny himself, and that had been more than good enough for him, thanks very much.  
  
    Of course, no one was particularly pressed to know what Jakob thought of the arrangement, so no one made the effort to explain it to him. Corrin's nanny, Isla, would wake him in the morning so he could go wake Corrin (which was patently absurd when she could just go do it herself), and Jakob would be at the mercy of his charge for the rest of the day. And that was that, no matter how he felt about it.  
  
    "...And this one is Madeleine! She's best friends with Gertrude, but sometimes she gets jealous because she's beside the wall, so Gertrude is the only one she has to talk to, but Gertrude gets to live between Madeleine _and_ Beatrice-"  
  
    Jakob squinted as Corrin patted at the muzzle of an extraordinarily plain brown mare, and he tried not to sigh as loudly as possible. He could not believe she expected him to care about the social lives of her bloody horses. She knew nothing about anything. Even as the tour guide of her own home, she'd been bafflingly clueless. She had no idea who most of the portraits featured, could not tell him where the servants quarters were located, and couldn't adequately explain why the windows were barred when he'd finally worked up the courage to ask.  
  
    She had looked back and blinked at him with her unsettling eyes. He'd never seen anyone with red irises until he met Corrin. "Oh...Nanny says they're supposed to keep the ghosts out," she told him. Jakob had very nearly sputtered in outrage. _Ghosts_. Her face didn't even change when she said it; clearly, she was oblivious to the ridiculousness of her suggestion.  
  
    Ghosts were not _real_. More than that, they were stupid. Any ghost that could be thwarted by mundane metal bars was a ghost unworthy of the effort to ward against at all, in his haughty opinion. It annoyed him to no end that not only did he have to wait hand and foot on an ignorant little girl, he had to wait on one who believed in ghosts.  
  
    "Jakob?"  
  
    He blinked and jerked his head towards her, and his lips pinched into a thin line. Spitefully, he hoped she would ask him if he actually remembered her horses' dumb names just so he could tell her that he didn't, and wouldn't. She did not, however. Corrin only frowned gently and hopped off the foot stool she'd been perched on.  
  
    "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice cloyingly earnest and sweet.  
  
    He nodded, though the gesture was stiff. Corrin smiled brightly and climbed back onto the stool to go back to doting on her horse. Whichever it was. It was obviously accustomed to her doing this, because it sniffed around her palm as if waiting for a treat.  
  
    "This one is Beatrice! She likes flowers and sugar and-"  
  
    Jakob gave in to his desire to groan internally and buried his face in both hands. His charge was blissfully unaware, and she prattled on while Jakob resisted the urge to slam his face into a wooden beam.  
  
    When they eventually put him to work, Jakob was grateful for the excuse to be away from Corrin for all of one day. By the end of it, he only wished he was back in the stables with her, listening to her talk about the time that Millie, a pretty white mare with quite an attitude, hurt Gertrude's feelings by telling her that her singing voice was ugly.  
  
    They worked him to the bone. To his unyielding displeasure, no chore was deemed outside his wheelhouse. He washed dishes, scrubbed the grass stains out of Corrin's clothes, polished her shoes, sharpened weapons, dusted endlessly, and made the most lackluster tea he'd ever tasted. Every moment was a screaming hell. When he wasn't learning needlework so he could mend Corrin's torn dresses, he was being yelled at for doing a less than satisfactory job polishing some stupid old statue in a nook no one ever looked at anyway.  
  
    Jakob wanted to throw himself off the top of this god forsaken fortress. He hated each and every stone with a blinding passion, every creaky beam and every hideous window. He hated Gunter, he hated Isla, and Corrin...  
  
    He wanted to hate Corrin, but after that first week, he hardly saw her enough to have an opinion on her as a person. The idea of her, however? Jakob hated that to the very bottom of his ever-shriveling heart.  
  
    Every morning he would be shaken awake by Isla, stumble out of his stiff, uncomfortable bed, and get dressed into his unnecessarily complicated uniform that marked him as yet another interchangeable staff member of this horrid fortress. In the dark of the morning, he'd go into Corrin's room to wake her less rudely than he was afforded, no matter how badly he wanted give her the same courtesy he received: none at all.  
  
    And he would stand beside her bed and glare at her while she rubbed at her eyes. It wasn't fair. He should be in his own house, in his own bed, being woken by his own nanny. Why did he have to be here? Why did he have to sacrifice his time and his body and his very soul just to pamper this spoiled little princess? She was the only royal in the entire fortress. Why did she need _him_?  
  
    Resentment sat inside his stomach like a hot stone, but by the time his days finally fell to a close, he was too tired to truly hate. He just wanted to sleep.  
  
    Naturally, Corrin was oblivious. As he worked, he would spot her hovering around from the corner of his eye. It annoyed the hell out of him at first, but eventually it just began to baffle him. She had all the free time in the world. Well -- that wasn't necessarily true. She was expected to study, but she hardly had to do that over the same long hours Jakob was stuck working himself to death. Why she chose to hang around him was...perplexing.  
  
    "Jakob, can you play with me?" she would ask. Every time she did, he would see her steel herself for disappointment, because he always said no.  
  
    As bitter as he was, Jakob genuinely regretted having to rebuff her constantly. He would much prefer playing with her to being scolded for dropping yet another plate, or spilling tea, or wasting bandages after he stabbed himself with a needle, or breathing too loudly. But he had no time. When he was eventually cut loose, he barely had the energy to eat, wash off all the dirt and grime, and crawl into his bed.  
  
    But Corrin was persistent. She would ask every day, and every day he would tell her no, watch her face crumple, and crush the sour guilt that rose up in him. It wasn't his fault, but her disappointment still managed to make him feel like the monster rumored to live in the dungeons. He wished it were real so he could feed himself to it and be put out of his misery.  
  
    One day, she actually asked him why he couldn't play. He was dusting all the tacky portraits in the hallway outside her bedroom when she approached him, and he looked back at her and stared at her oddly. "I have to work, Corrin."  
  
    "I know, but...what do you have to do?"  
  
    Jakob sighed and pushed his bangs from his forehead. They were damp with sweat, and it made his skin crawl to know that he was growing used to it. "When I'm done in here I have to go dust in the library."  
  
    "Oooh." She paused and fidgeted with the front of her dress. "If you finish that, can you play with me then?"  
  
    Hesitation seized him. It was technically the last thing on his list for the day, but he already knew he wasn't going to finish before it was time for her to sleep. "I suppose if I finished quickly enough."  
  
    Corrin perked up and wandered away. He didn't see her for the rest of the afternoon, and he was left baffled once again. She was so bizarre. He went back to his task, having already accepted that he would be disappointing his mistress yet again. Not that he cared, mind. It took him another two hours to finish dusting. His nose and his eyes burned, and the rag he gripped was filthy. But at least it was done.  
  
    He tossed the rag with the rest of the dirty linens and picked up a clean one to tackle the library. Jakob dreaded it already. He had never fathomed that he would be given a task that could make him hate the very concept of books, but the Northern Fortress and its lovely staff had managed beautifully. Bitterly, he shoved the doors open and stepped inside when he fell still.  
  
    Corrin was deeply asleep on the sofa, a dirty rag clutched in her pale fingers. Jakob almost dropped his own in surprise. She was surrounded by her dolls, as if she would have been eagerly anticipating playing with him were it not for her untimely nap. Quietly, he slipped around her and wandered through the library. He was stunned to see that the furniture had been wiped of dust. Mostly.  
  
    Truthfully, it was a hilariously haphazard and amateurish job. There was still dust around the edges of each surface where she hadn't thought to clean, and the legs of the tables were untouched. But...still.  
  
    Jakob found himself touched.  
  
    He went back to her side and knelt down to check on her. Her breathing was slow and even in sleep. Waking her seemed cruel. Gently, Jakob lifted her up from the cushions and attempted to gather her in his arms, but he nearly dropped her. Gods, she was heavy. It was a struggle, but he was able to get her legs around his waist, and he hauled her all the way to her bedroom with his arms straining madly.  
  
    But they made it without incident. Jakob deposited her into her bed with an inelegant burst of air rushing out of him, his face flushed and sweat itching beneath his shirt. Corrin hadn't even budged. It was kind of amazing how deeply she was asleep. Amused, Jakob snorted and tucked her into her blankets, and he left to go finish the job she had started. For the first time since his arrival, he found himself in a good mood.  
  
    Corrin never admitted to her intentions, but Jakob was not an idiot. More than once he would see her come to him in the middle of another job, and she would make what she surely felt was a slick attempt to suss out whatever task he had waiting on him. She was not sly, but Corrin obviously thought she was, and it was rather charming.  
  
    She approached him outside as he hung up wet clothes to dry, and he turned, fully expecting her to try and figure out that he had to go sharpen some throwing knives Gunter kept around for whatever reason. She did not, however. She stood before him with a strange look on her face and tugged anxiously at the ends of her dark hair.  
  
    "Um, Jakob?"  
  
    He looked back at her expectantly, but she did not continue immediately. The silence got to be ever so slightly awkward before she tried.  
  
    "I'm sorry I'm annoying." She looked so shamefaced that Jakob was taken aback. Sure, he hadn't exactly been nice to her, but he'd never insulted her to her face. Where was this coming from?  
  
    "What?" It was hardly the most calculated response, but she caught him too thoroughly by surprise to get out much more than that. Corrin looked at him and bit her lip. "Who told you that?" he asked her.  
   
    With guilt crossing her face, Corrin looked down and toyed with her skirt, bunching the thin material up into her hands. "Well, Nanny said..."  
  
    His eyes opened wide. Scandalized, he clutched at the front of his vest. "She said that to you? She told you that you're annoying?" What cheek! _His_ nanny would _never_.  
  
    Corrin looked startled by his outrage, and she dropped her skirt around her skinny legs. "Oh, well, no. She said I was probably annoying you... 'cause I ask you to play all the time."  
  
    It wasn't all that much better, but Jakob grudgingly admitted it was a less egregious offense than he'd imagined. He sighed and ducked forward, reaching for one of Corrin's wet dresses and pinning it to the clothesline. "You don't annoy me," he told her. It surprised him that it was true.  
  
     The look on her face embarrassed him to no end. 'You don't annoy me' was about the most neutral statement he could think of to say to a person, but she looked so happy to hear it he may as well have told her she was a delight. He felt it hardly merited such a response, but Corrin clearly disagreed.  
  
    He stared critically at her face for a moment before he snorted slightly and tilted his head. "Why are you so eager to play? Are there never any other children here? Don't you have brothers and sisters?"  
  
    "Yeah!" Corrin smiled brightly, but it vanished just as quickly. "I don't get to see them very much, though. I've never had a friend who lives with me! I had so much fun when you first moved in."  
  
    Come to think of it, Jakob had thought that was odd. He'd heard plenty about the Nohrian royalty before, but Corrin barely mentioned them. With a tiny frown, Jakob cocked his head and abandoned the laundry to eye her. "Why _do_ you live here?"  
  
    Corrin's narrow shoulders lifted, and she reached back to rub at her head. "Nanny said I hit my head really bad when I lived at Krakenburg. Daddy made me come live here with Gunter, but I don't remember. Gunter told me I wouldn't, though. I even forgot about my brothers and sisters," she added, her brows furrowing in distress.  
  
    Jakob wasn't entirely sure how that followed. She hit her head and got punished for it by living with a rude nanny and a grouchy old man and an even grouchier servant boy? Quite the fate. He opened his mouth to question her more when he spotted Isla's maid, Brigid, bustling over with her skirts in her hands. He groaned and rolled his eyes while she was still far enough away not to see it.  
  
    "Corrin! There you are!" She took one of Corrin's small hands into her own and propped her other against her hips. "Now why are you out here bothering Jakob?"  
  
    Privately, Jakob was pleased to see Corrin actually purse her lips at her. "I'm not bothering him! He said so!"  
  
    Brigid only scoffed in amusement and smoothed her wild hair down. "Yes, well, he's got a lot to do, little one. And so do you! Your nanny has your bath waiting on you, and now you've gone and let it get cold."  
  
    "But I don't want to bathe!"  
  
    She was starting to throw a tantrum, which surprised Jakob to no end. She was usually quick to do whatever any adult with a modicum of authority demanded from her.  
  
    Brigid didn't seem to care much, however, and she snorted and began to tug her towards the castle. "None of that. In you get! The monster in the dungeon loves to devour little girls who don't listen. They're his favorite."  
  
    "Wh- You said it only eats maids!" Corrin protested.  
  
    Jakob listened to them go with a curl of his lip and went back to doing laundry a little more roughly than he had been before. No wonder Corrin believed so much nonsense when Brigid was there encouraging it. His mood was sour for the rest of the day.  
  
    Yet more time passed. For awhile, he was astonished to have time to play with Corrin after all. He would read to her, let her read to him, and he even indulged her with her dolls when he felt like it. He'd listen to her wax about her stupid horses and have fake tea parties in the garden where he'd offer bits of trivia about the flowers he recognized.  
  
    But the fortress seemed to have caught onto his budding sense of happiness, because he soon found himself tasked with harder and harder things that Corrin couldn't help him with. He was sure Gunter and Isla did it on purpose.  
  
    No matter what he did, Isla was never satisfied. She complained about the dishes he washed, complained about the streaks that were left after they were dried, and fussed at him every time he broke a needle or used a staff on an injury she didn't feel warranted it. She even insulted his tea, which smarted the most because she was actually right.  
  
    No one bothered to show him how to make it properly, so he was left to figure it out on his own. Which was just as well, really; Jakob took malicious pleasure in knowing that no one else in the fortress made tea worth a damn either. Still, that didn't make it any less frustrating when he couldn't make it. It was too bitter, or too flavorless, or too sweet. He ached for the tea he had at his own home, made from the leaves his mother grew herself.  
  
    The reminder cut him to the bone every time. Just being asked to make tea at all made him angry when the very smell of it assaulted him with memories of his mother and his manor.  
  
    But Corrin wasn't to know. He ignored her as hard as he could, his clumsy fingers shaking the kettle clutched in them. He poured tea that sloshed over the edge of the tea cup, but Corrin was kind enough not to chide him. A little too violently, he dumped a mound of sugar into it, and he stirred it into the murky liquid, his teeth gritting harder with every scrape of metal against porcelain.  
  
    Without a word, he slid the cup to his charge and bit the inside of his lip. He already knew it wasn't going to be good, but he wasn't ready for her to actually gag on it. She coughed, put it down, and beamed at him. "Thank you, Jakob."  
  
    He stared at her. She had to be joking. Why was she always so nice to him? Why was she so accepting of everyone who made her life worse? Jakob glared and took the cup from her to take a sip. Overpowering sugar surged through his mouth, and he slammed the cup down and swallowed with an enormous struggle. "This is disgusting," he told her.  
  
    "Wh- No, it's not!" Corrin took it back again and swallowed another mouthful. The sugar hadn't even dissolved completely. Jakob could still feel the granules on his tongue, and he knew she could too.  
  
    Anger boiled up at him hotter than his lukewarm tea, and he picked up the tray and threw it against the wall. The way it shattered against the stone satisfied him to no end.  
  
    Corrin shrank back in fear. Tea spilled down her front as she cowered away from him, squishing back harder in her chair as he climbed to his feet and towered over her. His chest heaved. "I fucking hate making tea," he snarled. To his fury, Corrin dropped her cup to clap her hands over her ears, her dark red eyes wide and afraid.  
  
    "Stop it! You're not a baby, Corrin!" He couldn't stop himself. It wasn't her fault. She hadn't brought him here. She didn't tell him to do chore after chore. She just asked him to make her tea, and she was sitting in front of him, and that was enough.  
  
    The last of his reserves crumbled inside him, and his hands clenched into fists as he yelled at her. "I hate this awful place. I have- I have _callouses on my fingers_!"  
  
    Corrin was close to tears, but Jakob didn't care. Whether she had asked for him or not, Jakob was here because she was here.  
  
    It wasn't her fault.  
  
    But it was.  
  
    Before he could say more, the door slammed open so hard the floor rattled beneath him. He turned to see Isla prowling towards him like an enraged mother bear, her face red and stormy. It was hard not to be cowed instantly, but Jakob had his pride, and he glowered at her in open defiance.  
  
    "What in the world has gotten into you?!" She looked at the shattered tea set and Corrin's fearful face, then down to Jakob with anger building like clouds. She grasped his arm and began hauling him towards the door as Corrin shrieked his name. "That's _it_. I am so sick of your attitude, Jakob. Breaking things on purpose now! Unbelievable! Do you have any idea how fortunate you are not to be tossed out onto the streets right now? Is that what you want?"  
  
    Jakob bit his tongue so hard the taste of copper stung at the back of his throat. He refused to dignify her with a response, and he lifted his chin and glared.  
  
    "No, nanny! Stop it!"  
  
    Isla swung around with Jakob still locked in her ridiculously strong grip, and he saw Corrin with an armful of her skirts. "It wasn't Jakob," Corrin cried. "It was me!"  
  
    He felt Isla's fingers come away from his bicep, and a frown settled so deeply over the woman that it touched every inch of her face. "Why?" she asked her.  
  
    Corrin stamped her foot and wailed. "I hate that tea, Nanny! It's nasty, and I'm tired of it, and I don't want it anymore!"  
  
    Jakob was shocked into stillness. Why was she lying? Evidently, he wasn't the only one who noticed, because he spotted Isla shooting him a mistrustful little slit of her eyes before she looked back at Corrin. "Are you sure it's not just because Jakob doesn't like to make it?" she sniffed.  
  
    To his infinite gratification, Corrin pulled an expression of long, sincere suffering. "It's nasty when you make it too, Nanny."  
  
    He almost laughed, but he swallowed it at the last second and pointedly stared at the floor. Gruffly, Isla crossed her arms. "I'm very disappointed in you, Corrin. You are too old to be throwing tantrums and breaking things. Go get me a switch this instant."  
  
    The way Corrin balked made Jakob want to run to her. She recoiled as if Isla had bitten her, and she burst into tears. "No, Nanny! I'm sorry!" They spilled down her face so fast they dripped off her cheeks like rainwater. Jakob was utterly confused and terrified. What was a switch?  
  
    "Right now, young lady!" Isla dragged her away as she cried. He didn't know what else to do. Jakob followed them in a daze, though he felt as if lead had settled into the soles of his feet. Corrin never stopped crying.  
  
    Isla took her all the way outside, and she watched like a disapproving hawk as Corrin snapped off a long, skinny branch from one of the gnarled willow trees that grew stubbornly on the grounds. She brought it back to Isla with her face still splotched and red.  
  
    "Please," she begged.  
  
    Isla frowned and turned her around. With growing horror, Jakob watched Corrin lift up her skirt, and Isla brought the switch stinging across the backs of her legs. Corrin cried all the harder. His insides shriveled and turned to ash. Isla hit her with it three more times before she decided that was adequate, and she scooped Corrin into her arms and held her to her chest. "Oh, darling."  
  
    Corrin clutched at her neck as she sobbed. Isla just stroked at her back and carted her back inside. "Are you going to do that again?"  
  
    "No, Nanny. I'm sorry." She sniffled and hid her face in Isla's chest. Jakob was left to follow her to Corrin's bedroom. Fussily, Isla tucked her into bed and kissed her forehead.  
  
    "Good girl. I love you, Corrin."  
  
    Corrin sniffed several times. "I love you too, Nanny."  
  
    Isla bustled away. She didn't even look twice at Jakob, as if he may as well not have been there at all. Nausea seized him hard. Corrin was curled up in a pitiful lump in her blankets. He could see her trembling through the fabric, and he could hear her still crying to herself.  
  
    Jakob left her there. He sneaked into the medical storage to grab a staff, and he crept back into her room and stood over her bed. She hadn't moved. Carefully, he lifted the staff, using what little magic he had to heal the painful red lashes across her legs. After a few moments, the covers shifted, and Corrin peeked at him over the hem.  
  
    He stared at her like an idiot. "Corrin...why did you lie?" he asked her. He sounded helpless, which pissed him off, but he supposed that helpless was exactly what he was. Corrin only smiled at him as if he she hadn't been sobbing hysterically five minutes ago. She reached out and took his hand.  
  
    "You're my friend," she told him. "I don't want you to leave."  
  
    The last vestiges of his anger snapped off and broke away. Jakob squeezed at her hand, his heart lodged in his throat and his stomach twisting in regret. He watched her sit up, and she scooted to the edge of her bed and put her arms around him. Tension rippled down his back. He stiffened in her arms even as he put his hands to her back, and he did little more than listen to her breathe.  
  
    She started to cry again. He could hear the staccato gasps for air and the ugly sounds of her sobs in his ears.  
  
    Ah. No.  
  
    That was him.  
  
    He cried into her pretty teal hair and gripped her harder. The longer he stood, the more painfully the sobs wracked his body as Corrin held him and stroked his back.  
  
    Her hair smelled like flowers.


	3. I Believe

* * *

 

 

    Corrin never spoke of the switch again, but regular life in the castle resumed so quickly that Jakob nearly forgot the incident entirely. For reasons he never seemed compelled to share, Gunter was adamant that Jakob learn absolutely everything, and 'everything' was enough to ensure he stayed busy all day.  
  
    Shortly after breakfast, Jakob retired to the library to practice his needlework while Corrin spread out before the hearth. Brigid had drawn her a picture of a rabbit, and Corrin was now filling in the lines with a thick, waxy crayon clutched in her fingers. He hadn't noticed when it actually happened, but recently, they'd allowed her to keep him company -- or allowed him to keep _her_ company -- much more often. Whichever it was, Jakob could only assume they'd either decided they were satisfied with the progress he was making, or Corrin had successfully annoyed them into submission.  
  
    The library seemed to be Corrin's favorite place, even more so than her own bedroom. Jakob hadn't initially liked it any better than he liked the rest of the unfriendly fortress, but it grew on him over time. The fireplace was nice, and the glossy wood furniture was cozy with its plush, emerald green cushions and pillows. It was comfortable. Plus, it was the only room in the entire castle that didn't have those hideous bars over the windows, likely because they were so high up they couldn't be reached even by the adults.  
  
    Jakob was about half way done with his stitches when he slowly drifted out of his thoughts and noticed that Corrin was singing to herself, and seemingly had been for some time. She lay belly-down on a thick, deep red carpet that was spread out in front of the fireplace, her legs kicking lightly while she colored Brigid's picture and sang in some strange language he'd never heard before. Her enthusiasm for singing was endearing, but Jakob had to admit that it baffled him too, because she was not very good at it. It wasn't that she had a terrible voice; it was just that it was aggressively average, and her lack of talent did nothing to prevent her from singing even when she had an audience. It was...strange, but all the same, it did charm him that she still did it just because she liked to.  
  
    Slowly, he lowered the fabric into his lap and glanced up at her. She was facing away from him and had yet to notice that he was watching her, so after a time, he cleared his throat. "Lady Corrin?"  
  
    She dropped her crayon and rolled partially on her side to look back at him with surprise. "Hm?"  
  
    "What is that you're singing? It's not a language I'm familiar with."  
  
    She blinked, as if surprised to be alerted to the fact that she'd been doing such a thing. "Uhm, I'm not sure!" Jakob stared at her, and his lips pinched into an unimpressed line. She wasn't sure about which? She didn't even know the language she was actually speaking, or didn't know the song? Corrin was oblivious to his irritation, however, and she rolled over the rest of the way and sat up. "Sometimes I just hear music in my head, and I sing it to myself. I don't really remember where I heard it. Sometimes I just make it up!"  
  
    He supposed that would make sense, given her strangely spotty memory. If she had forgotten her own siblings at one time, it stood to reason she might remember an old song she'd been taught without necessarily remembering where or why she'd been taught it in the first place.  
  
    Jakob nodded slowly and went back to his needlework, but this time Corrin's dark red eyes lingered on him.  
  
    The swing of the library doors opening caught their attention at the same time, and as one, each of them swiveled around to see Gunter stepping inside with a letter clutched in his hand. He hesitated and nodded to Corrin before he faced Jakob. "I need to speak with you. Would you step outside a moment?"  
  
    Corrin opened her mouth, and Jakob could already hear her ask if she could come too. But she hesitated there, closed her mouth, and dropped her shoulders before she waved sadly to him. She turned back to her coloring as Jakob put the fabric scraps down. He placed his needle atop the folded cotton and slid off the sofa to follow Gunter out into the hallway.  
  
    Gunter handed him the letter. Jakob almost snarled the instant he recognized his mother's handwriting, and he glared up at the man with betrayal sparking behind his eyes and in the hard line of his mouth. "I told you I don't want my post," he sniffed, his voice nearly dripping frost. But Gunter only eyed him quietly, unmoved in the face of his venom.  
  
    "I think you should read it."  
  
    Jakob _knew_. Something in Gunter's tone told him exactly what the letter contained, and his stomach dropped inside him as he swallowed the ice on his tongue. He didn't need to read it to be certain, but Jakob did anyway. His hands shook slightly as he took it and broke the seal, and he unfolded the smooth white paper.  
  
    His face remained impassive as he finished reading, but his arms dropped slowly. His thumbs drove a faint crease along the page, and he stared at the bottom of it long after, where the word 'Mother' closed it in the familiar, elegant cursive he hadn't looked at in so long.  
  
    His father was dead.  
  
    Gunter didn't speak. Even after Jakob's arms finally fell, the letter clutched only half-heartedly in one hand, the man did nothing but grip at his shoulders and let him stand there and breathe. In and out. In and out.  
  
    Finally, Gunter led him to his bedroom and sat him down on the bed. "Do you wish to attend?"  
  
    Jakob shook his head. His mother hadn't gone so far as to ask him to. She simply told him the date of the funeral and told him she'd do anything to make it happen if he wanted to be there. But he did not.  
  
    Gunter fell silent for a beat, then frowned softly. "Are you sure?"  
  
    Jakob nodded, firmly, and glared at him when he sighed.  
  
    They stood like that for what felt like an eternity, but eventually, Gunter released him and stepped back. "Let me know if you change your mind. For now, you can stay and rest in here. Isla and I can take care of things."  
  
    He left, then, bowing shortly and slipping out the door while Jakob stared in shock at the dark wood. Take care of things? While he did...what? Cry? Rage? Or just stew in silence? What the hell was this sudden onset of pity?  
  
    Still bewildered and feeling raw, Jakob slowly lay back into his bed and just...breathed. He was surprised not to feel anything at all. It irritated him that Gunter and Isla were going to give him a day off just because they felt sorry for him, but beyond that was a lot of nothing. He wasn't even really surprised. His mother had never told him what was wrong with his father, but Jakob wasn't a fucking idiot. He knew whatever it was was going to rob his father from him sooner rather than later. He didn't need to know the exact name of whatever it was that was killing him to be aware that that was exactly what it was doing.  
  
    He lay like that for several minutes until he rolled over the edge of the bed, and he sat down on the cold stone floor and scooted back against the wall. A few weeks ago, Gunter had given him a little target and a ball to practice with. It had seemed stupid at the time, but now Jakob was glad for both the opportunity and the excuse to just hit something. He picked up the ball and threw it, nailing the red center of the target hard enough it bounced back into his hands.  
  
    Jakob did it again, breathing hard. At first he simply felt contempt for their unwanted pity, but the longer he thought about it, the more it pissed him off. How very _magnanimous_ of them to give him some breathing room now that the inevitable had finally caught up to his family. Where was their pity when he had first moved in? Where was their pity when he was a scared little boy being told his life was now neatly and permanently bisected between 'child' and 'caretaker'?  
  
    Where was their pity when he'd actually god damned needed it?  
  
    With every angry word that filtered through his head, Jakob threw the ball harder and harder until it ricocheted back so hard it struck him right in the nose, and he cried out and clutched at his face as angry tears needled at the backs of his eyes. Enraged, he snatched up the ball and threw it to the side before climbing to his feet.  
  
    Apparently Gunter had actually meant the offer he'd made, because Jakob didn't see a single soul as he made his way to the infirmary. He knew there was a leftover staff near the back. Brigid had caught him using it once before, when he'd healed a mundane splinter for Corrin in the hopes that it would be the last one to break the stupid thing. Rather than threaten to tell Isla like he'd sort of expected, she'd simply rolled her eyes and commented that only Jakob would find a way to heal someone else out of spite.  
  
    It would seem his calculations were actually pretty close, because the ancient staff finally broke after he healed his fractured nose. Jakob just left it there, tossing it onto the ground and stomping back out as he rubbed his flushed face.  
  
    He was rounding the corner on his way back to his room when he very nearly plowed into Gunter's middle, and he staggered backwards and blinked up at the man. He recovered quickly, though, and drew himself up to his meager height and squared his shoulders. "...I don't want a day off," Jakob told him.  
  
    He had expected Gunter to look more surprised by such an announcement, so when he didn't, Jakob was almost tempted to take it back. Gunter didn't give him the opportunity. "Come with me," he said, and he steered Jakob around straight back into the infirmary. Jakob watched in mounting confusion as Gunter stepped over the used up staff with little more than a snort, and he grabbed a fresh one. With that, he led Jakob right back out, and he fetched a pair of thick leather gloves that he handed off to him, then a roll of leather concealing something he couldn't see, but could nevertheless take a decent stab at guessing.  
  
    Eventually, they made their way down to the grounds where another set of sturdy wooden targets were arranged in a row along the outer walls of the castle. Gunter laid the staff down, unrolled the leather, and slid a heavy iron throwing knife into Jakob's gloved hand. He pointed towards the center target and squeezed Jakob's shoulder. "Practice."  
  
    What the hell? Jakob felt entirely thrown off his game. Gunter made no move to show him how to do it or anything. Just 'practice'. He dropped his head, his pale hair spilling into his eyes before he shoved it out of the way and glared at the dull blade. He tightened his fingers around the handle and lifted his jaw to stare at the target.  
  
    Without much thought, Jakob threw it hard, and it bounced off the edge. Gunter stopped him from fetching it, however, and he grasped at Jakob's bicep. "Use your magic."  
  
    It took a lot more effort than he'd ever imagined, but Jakob did. He felt it slide down through his arm, that tiny spark of magic that coursed through his veins and into his fingertips as if he were about to heal someone. He watched the knife shudder on the grass, reacting to his pull before it slid up from the earth and into his grasp. It moved so fast it almost cut straight through his grip and sliced into his fingers, but the leather was thick enough it spared his skin.  
  
    He glanced up to see Gunter nodding approvingly. "Now do it again."  
  
    He shifted behind him, adjusting Jakob's legs and nudging him until he was in a better stance. For several minutes, he watched Jakob throw it over and over, until he managed to sink the blade into the wood. Gunter left him, then, and Jakob was free to practice in peace.  
  
    Which he did.  
  
    Over and over he threw the knife, calling it back into his palm with magic. The longer he did it, the easier it got, to the point he could open his fingers and guide the handle into his palm without even thinking about it. Which, ultimately, was what he wanted: not to think, about anything at all. He focused entirely on the target before him, his legs like lead and his skin pouring sweat.  
  
    After so long, he felt as if the rest of his body was little more than an accessory to his arm. All he could feel was the shift of his muscles as his arm snapped out in a smooth arc. He could feel the surge of energy building inside his shoulder with every swing, growing in intensity and stealing down his bicep like a lightning bolt. It got to the point he imagined he could even feel it course through the blade to thrum at the very tip of it, and it didn't take him long to learn he could use that sensation to guide the knife straight to the heart of the target.  
  
    He fell into such an easy rhythm he was sure he could do it in his sleep. He didn't move save to throw the knife, then hold his arm steady with his fingers spread until it broke free of the wood and snapped back into his grip. The thud of metal sinking into wood became a steady tempo.  
  
    Jakob liked the sound of it. It was deeply satisfying to hear how short the pauses between came the faster he picked up the pace. He threw it again and again with savage force until a sudden surge of power swept through him. His arm snapped out again, and the blade sank so deeply into the wood the target splintered around it and fell apart.  
  
    "Oh my!"  
  
    Jakob started in surprised and turned to see Brigid with a hand pressed to her sternum. She looked kind of annoyed about the ruined target, but she didn't berate him. She huffed and propped her hands against her hips. "Isla wants to see you. You're going to catch your death of heatstroke!"  
  
    Loathe as he was to admit it, she was right; he'd probably overdone it. Now that he'd actually stopped, his arm felt about twenty pounds heavier, and his fingertips were buzzing with numbness. He was positively soaked in sweat, too, and he could feel the heat pulsing in his cheeks. Brigid huffed at him and moved to brush his sweaty bangs back from his eyes. "Isla will have a fit if she sees you like this. Let's get you cleaned up, then you can go see her."  
  
    He followed without protest -- at least not verbal protest, because his feet were screaming in discomfort. He had no idea how long he'd been out there. More than likely through lunch. He was so exhausted even talking felt like it would exert too much effort, so Jakob didn't bother. He let Brigid take him back inside the fortress where she plied him with a vulnerary, and she gripped at his chin and mopped the sweat from his face with a cool rag.  
  
    "That's better! Go and get changed up. Isla is down in the kitchen."  
  
    He left her in a daze. He actually did feel much better already. The vulnerary chased away the numbness and the heaviness of his limbs, and it abated the feverish heat sluicing off him. Still, Brigid was right to ask that he change. His clothes were filthy and damp. He stole into his room to get out of them, and he pulled on a clean uniform before he went to look for Isla.  
  
    As promised, Isla was in the kitchen, but her back was to him as she crouched down in front of Corrin. She was sniffling pitifully and blinking back tears while Isla fussed at her gently. "What did I say about running up and down the stairs, young lady?"  
  
    Corrin sniffed again. None of the tears had shed, which was impressive. She was a bit of a crybaby, all things considered, but she'd been doing better lately. "Not to," she mumbled. She rubbed at her eyes while Isla patted at her pale, skinny legs. Jakob could see quite a nasty scrape on her knee that Isla kissed sweetly, and she pressed a clean bandage over it.  
  
    "All better now." Isla lifted up to kiss her head and stood, and she turned to see him standing there. "Oh, there you are! A package arrived for you, dear." Jakob felt himself tense so hard his teeth nearly cracked. Isla didn't seem to notice, however, and she handed him a box. There was no note attached. It came only with a thick piece of paper with neat instructions written down the length of it.  
  
    "Ooh, what is it?!" Corrin hopped off the chair and scampered closer to him with curiosity shining in her face. It was enough she forgot about her apparent injury. Jakob glanced at her a moment, but he soon focused on the box and opened it with his mouth oppressively dry.  
  
    He opened it up to find two boxes full of tea leaves.


	4. Here Comes the Sun

* * *

 

 

    Jakob followed the instructions to the letter. He boiled water to the proper temperature, poured it into the cup, and let the leaves steep down to the precise second. Once the leaves were removed, he poured only one teaspoon of sugar into it and stirred.  
  
    Fortunately for his nerves, Isla was keeping Corrin occupied so she wasn't staring at him the whole time he worked. They were singing some silly nursery rhyme together. They stopped only when Jakob slid the silver spoon from the liquid and tapped it against the edge of the cup.  
  
    "Sing with us, Jakob!"  
  
    He glanced up to see his mistress smiling brightly as she clutched at Isla's hands. He made a face at her and shook his head. "No, thank you. I'm far too thoughtful to inflict such a thing on your ears."  
  
    Corrin frowned at him, her eyebrows wibbling and her bottom lip protruding. She looked ridiculous, but it amused him rather than annoyed him. She let go of Isla and clasped her small hands against her face. "How come? Do you not like to sing?"  
  
    "Not especially," he muttered.  
  
    With the tea finished, he placed the spoon on a napkin and carefully slid the cup towards Corrin. It was enough to distract her from her question, and she beamed in excitement. "Yay! It smells so good!" He watched with anxiety gnawing at him as she picked up the teacup and put it to her lips. Part of him was worried she was just going to say it was good even if it was awful, because she was Corrin and that was what she did.  
  
    A response was not forthcoming, however, empty praise or otherwise, because Corrin simply didn't stop drinking. She drained almost the entire cup before she put it down with a gasp, and she smacked her puffy lips. "That was delicious!"  
  
    Beside her, Isla snorted delicately and dabbed at her mouth with a clean napkin. "Such a heathen. Ladies are supposed to take sips, not gulp down tea like it's ale."  
  
    Corrin didn't even acknowledge being scolded. She picked up the cup and thrust it up towards her. "Try it, Nanny!" To Jakob's surprise, Isla indulged her. She gripped the fragile handle and sipped the last dregs of tea before she put the cup back down on its saucer.  
  
    "That _is_ delicious. Jakob did a wonderful job, didn't he?"  
  
    Truth be told, Jakob couldn't help but feel a little condescended to, but...he had been trying to perfect this for weeks now. He offered them a short nod and went to make a second cup so he could judge for himself and decide whether or not they were both just blowing smoke.  
  
    "Can I have some more too?"  
  
    Corrin wiggled in her seat looking so eager that it would seem practically monstrous to deny her. A crooked smile seized him, and he nodded for her. "Give me just a moment." Perhaps she wasn't, then.  
  
    He finished making his own, then poured and sweetened a second cup for the voracious princess. She dove into it immediately, though she did at least go back to sipping at it. But for several seconds, Jakob found himself staring into the dark surface and gripping at the sides.  
  
    Truthfully, he wasn't sure if the sting would be worse if it didn't taste the way it should, or if it'd be the same as all his other failures. He supposed there would be no telling until he actually tried. Jakob stole a short breath and put the teacup to his lips.  
  
    It tasted exactly like home. He could remember sitting in his mother's lap with a cup clutched in his hands, the muted sunlight filtering through the clouds while they admired her garden.  
  
    Jakob stiffened in his seat and pulled it away. "...It is good," he conceded. It was exactly what he'd been missing.  
  
    Home. He had hardly believed that he'd ever return there, but all the same, he hadn't come to this place fully prepared to never see it again either. He hadn't come here knowing he would never see his father ever again.  
  
    Together, he and Corrin finished their cups and put them down. She looked happy as a clam, her face flushed and her hair bouncing. "Thank you so much, Jakob! That was the best tea ever. Where does it come from?"  
  
    "It hardly matters, little one." Isla patted her back and stood up to hoist Corrin off her chair. "Afternoon tea is done, so it's time for you to go back to your lessons."  
  
    Corrin wrinkled her nose, but she made no move to protest. She adjusted her skirts and tottered towards the hallway. "Yes ma'am." To Jakob's, and evidently Corrin's, surprise, Isla cleared the dishes away and gathered them up into a bin to haul to the kitchen.  
  
    "Jakob, what have you got this afternoon?"  
  
    He looked up at her and motioned towards the ceiling. "Gunter asked me to help him clean out the infirmary. He mentioned that we're getting some new supplies." She seemed satisfied enough with that. Once the dishes were collected, Isla hefted the bin over one of her powerful shoulders and swept up behind Jakob. There, she paused, and she sifted her fingers through his hair. "You're getting a little wild, dear." Her fingers were thick and strong and strangely soothing, even if she wasn't exactly being complimentary. Brigid had said she had 'earth hands', whatever that meant. "We should get you a trim. Boys ought to keep their hair short."  
  
    Jakob's features contorted sourly, and he could imagine the result of it, because Corrin dissolved into giggles and clapped her palm to her mouth. He was resolved to never cut his hair ever again if that was what she thought.  
  
    Apparently his private vow was more obvious than he'd believed. Isla snorted and nudged him forward. "Very well, off you two get. Go, shoo!"  
  
    Corrin skittered out the door still giggling, and Jakob followed after her. The infirmary was only one floor higher than the library, so he trudged up the stairs with Corrin humming beside him and swishing her skirts. "Hey, Jakob?"  
  
    He blinked and tilted his head to meet her gaze. "Yes?"  
  
    "Will you ever sing with me?"  
  
    She was still thinking about that? Honestly. Jakob tossed his head and folded his arms loosely. "I'll tell you what, my lady. Should your life ever come to depend on it, then I will sing with you."  
  
    Corrin giggled again and reached over to grasp at his bicep. "You're so funny."  
  
    Jakob decided it would be too mean to tell her she had no real basis of comparison, so he did not. He escorted her to the library and opened the door for her to skip inside. He left her there and headed right back down the hall to keep climbing up the dreary stone staircases.  
  
    He was getting used to this place, but he still didn't like it. How such an unfriendly monstrosity housed such a warm, sweet girl like Corrin was frankly baffling. Then again, there he was a surly, crabby asshole, and he came from a loving home with a gorgeous garden. In the end, their environments were inconsequential. They just were, however that came to be.  
  
    The stairway opened up at the top, leading Jakob into the hall where the infirmary door was already propped open. He stepped inside to find Gunter there rummaging through a shelf. He offered Jakob a short, almost perfunctory nod and indicated a nearby crate filled with empty bottles and other junk. "If you could take this down to the basement storage, I'd appreciate it."  
  
    Jakob returned his nod with an equally perfunctory one of his own and hoisted the crate up into his arms. Ugh, the last thing he wanted to do was go into the basement. Almost no one went down there. Every inch of it was caked in dust, and the entire thing stank of decay and sadness. It was weird and creepy.  
  
    But Gunter was not actually asking so much as politely telling. Jakob left the man to his business and hefted the crate out of the room. It wasn't as heavy as it could have been, so he'd take what small mercies he was offered.  
  
    His foot settled down onto the third floor landing when he spotted Corrin wandering down the hallway. "What on earth are you doing?" he called to her. "You're supposed to be in your lesson."  
  
    "I forgot my book!" It was a flimsy excuse when she was obviously not too terribly fussed with her lesson; she ignored the library in favor of dashing over to Jakob with her pretty hair trailing behind her. "Where are you going?"  
  
    Jakob lifted his arms slightly to indicate the crate. "Gunter asked me to take this down into the basement," he told her.  
  
    Her sweet smile collapsed in on itself. "What? No, you can't!" Her round face turned so pale, she looked like she might be the ghost everyone tittered about. Jakob stepped away from her in alarm.  
  
    "You know I can-"  
  
    "You can't!" she asserted again. Her voice was cold and high in her panic, her eyes wide and her hands outstretched for him, as if he was about to be swallowed up by something behind him. "You can't go down there, Jakob! There's a monster down there!"  
  
    Eugh, Brigid. He wanted to hiss a curse on her name. This was what she got for filling Corrin's head with such terrifying nonsense. He sighed and adjusted the crate. "Corrin, there's no such thing. Brigid is just telling stories."  
  
    Violently, Corrin shook her head. He'd never seen her so starkly afraid, not even when she knew she was about to get a switch to the legs. "It is real," she cried. He didn't know if she was more distressed that he didn't believe her, or that he still intended to go. "It is real, I heard it. Please don't go!"  
  
    "What on earth is all this fuss?" Brigid poked her bright red head out of the library, and it was soon followed by the rest of her as she rushed over to Corrin. His poor mistress seemed only moments away from hysterical tears.  
  
    Corrin threw herself at Brigid's legs and grabbed two thick handfuls of her skirt. "Brigid, tell Jakob he can't go down to the basement!" she begged, and she shoved her face into the girl's middle.  
  
    Jakob glared at her over Corrin's head and tightened his grip. This was entirely her fault. Brigid just looked back at him, bewildered as she hugged Corrin's quivering shoulders. "There's not really a monster," she told her gently. "They're just silly stories, princess."  
  
    "No!" Corrin wailed. She pulled back from Brigid's belly and shook her head again, her dark hair whipping around her ears. "It is real! Tell him he can't!"  
  
    Brigid grimaced to herself and pressed the girl back firmly. "Jakob isn't going anywhere. We're going to go talk to Gunter, alright?"  
  
    Corrin sniffed and bobbed her head. At the very least, she seemed appeased. She clasped at Brigid's hand as tightly as possible, as if she were petrified that she'd lose her if she let go. As they turned away, Brigid jerked her head towards Jakob.  
  
    He got the message. He rolled his eyes at her and continued on down the stairs once they were far away. His arms were bloody sore now, and he still had three more flights of stairs to take. Four, including the ones leading down into the basement, which was really just a less gruesome way of saying 'former dungeon'.  
  
    By the time he got to the heavy oak door, his arms were beginning to protest. He set the box down, pushed the door open with a slow, unpleasant creek, and lit the lantern hanging on the wall beside it. He had to lift himself to his tiptoes to unhook it, but he just barely managed, and he hung it on the inside of the door instead. It wasn't much, but it was better than the pitch darkness he'd be dealing with otherwise.  
  
    Once more, the crate was hoisted up into his arms, and he trudged down that final flight of stairs. All he could smell was filthy stone and damp air. He wrinkled his nose and hopped off the last step to take his load of junk and dump it somewhere. To their credit, there was some sort of organization, even if it was hard to tell. The iron doors had all been removed some time ago so they could use each individual cell to store certain things. But Jakob was in a mood, now, and he didn't exactly care. He veered into the first cell and plopped it on the ground.  
  
    He had no idea why they were even storing this useless garbage. Maybe they were going to recycle the vulnerary bottles when they got their new supplies in? In that case, he imagined Gunter would make him come fetch this again. An irritated groan slid from his throat and echoed uncomfortably between the stone, but he nevertheless bent down to pick it up again and move it closer to the door to spare his future self slightly more hassle.  
  
    As he bent down, however, his interest was piqued by another box sitting near it, partially open to reveal a scrap of fabric. Jakob ignored the crate for the time being and slid it off to the side with his foot. It was probably nothing, but he could admit he was curious. He pulled the fabric out and stretched it between his hands to see a lady's dress. How...peculiar.  
  
    His face screwed up as he eyed it. Did it belong to Brigid? It was too small to be Isla's, but her maid might well fit it. But if it was, why would it be down here? They were hardly rolling in materials for clothes, so it seemed like a waste to have a perfectly good wardrobe languishing down here. He folded the dress back to replace it, but as he looked down once more, he realized that it had been covering a leather bound book.  
  
    Well, he was already being nosy anyway. He set the dress down and swapped it for the book, cracking it open and peering at the yellowed pages. It was a diary. He didn't recognize the handwriting at all. Brigid had really small, swirly handwriting, and she always drew extremely corny flowers around the dots in her own name. It wasn't Isla's, either, which was bigger and blockier. It definitely wasn't Gunter's. He had the same painstakingly neat penmanship as Jakob's mother.  
  
    He flipped the pages until he reached the binding, and there he saw the name 'Francesca' written in the corner. Who on earth was Francesca? It didn't seem like it was old enough to have belonged to a prisoner. Gunter had told him it had been many, many years since the fortress was used in such a capacity. The diary was old, but it didn't seem _that_ old.  
  
    The shift of gravel on stone tore his attention from the book and sent his heart leaping up his throat. The book dropped with a thud, and Jakob looked up to see that he was still very much alone. The stairway was empty.  
  
    He could hear nothing but the sound of his own labored breathing. Corrin's utterly consuming terror came roaring to the forefront of his mind, and he stumbled out of the cell and whipped around to look behind him.  
  
    A brief flicker of purple sparked at the corner of his eyes and vanished.  
  
    Jakob tore up the stairs so fast he barely felt his feet touch the ground. He hurtled past the doorway and slammed it shut behind him, rattling the lantern behind it until it shook as quickly as his arms.  
  
    He sank down onto the ground and covered his face. How very embarrassing. He knew there was nothing down there. Apparently Corrin's vivid imagination was contagious. Jakob shook his head harshly and huffed at himself as he rubbed at his face. Thank the gods no one else was there to see him.  
  
    He allowed himself a haughty sniff, adjusted his waistcoat, and thrust his nose up into the air. Nothing to see here. He stayed like that the entire time he made his way back to the infirmary to tell Gunter his annoying task was complete, but when he arrived, no one was there but Isla. Jakob blinked and dropped his shoulders. Isla was sweeping the floor and singing that bizarre song Corrin sometimes did.  
  
    "Isla?"  
  
    "Hm?"  
  
    Jakob brushed off his sleeve and cleared his throat. "Uhm, I was going to tell Gunter I took the crate down."  
  
    She nodded without really looking at him. It felt dismissive enough it annoyed him, but then again, maybe she wouldn't look at him and see he was still flushed from his ridiculous flight from a spooky hallucination. "I'll tell him," she said.  
  
    He hesitated, then. "What was that you were singing?"  
  
    Isla stopped short. She blinked several times, dazed, as if she were coming out of an intense daydream. "Hm? I didn't realize I was, dear."  
  
    "O- Oh." What the hell? Jakob frowned to himself and watched her go back to sweeping. "Right. It was just...I didn't know that you were familiar with that song Corrin sings. I never recognized that language it's in."  
  
    She made another strange face. "I didn't know I was either," she admitted.  
  
    Jakob slid backwards a step. How bizarre. "I'll leave you to it, then." He bowed stiffly and stepped outside the infirmary, but the instant he did, Isla lapsed right back into her singing. He slipped to the side to listen. As usual, he didn't recognize a single word, or even the melody. It was utterly foreign to him. How did she not even notice she was doing it?  
  
    Whatever. It was hardly his business. Jakob blew an irritated breath from his nose and abandoned the doorway to go back to his own bedroom. He was exhausted, and he was not in the mood for working after all that.  
  
    He was almost to his bedroom when he heard Corrin's voice filtering to him from the library.  
  
    She was singing too.


End file.
